Fat Sal's is a nice looking place. "Nice looking" is actually probably the least apt phrase for it, to be honest. What I mean is that I'm comfortable with it, it's kind of a shithole but not super filthy and it has enough character to satisfy me. That said, they are slinging some horrifying pizza in this joint.
The slice, it doesn't look so bad. In fact, for most of the time we were eating it, I was fairly okay with it. The cheese tasted decent, the dough was good. Phoebe thought it had the texture of a pizza that was ordered at the beginning of a children's birthday party but then consumed at the end, luke warm, when it had been sitting in the box for a few hours, and Caroline pointed out that the sauce tasted kind of like Shrimp Ramen.
All of this was fine. Not a good slice, but totally inoffensive. And then I absentmindedly dipped my finger into a small puddle of grease on my plate and it DENTED and retained a relief of my fingerprint. It kind of felt like I was pressing my finger into half congealed candelwax, like the kind on your body when you're at the dentist and she lights a candle and drips it onto your thighs. Anyway, I showed everyone else what was going on and they were appalled. One by one, Caroline, Greta and Phoebe each dipped their finger into a small puddle of grease on their plates and drew it back aghast. "This is happening inside our bodies," I said, very gravely, "we're all gonna die."
"Wait a minute," Phoebe chimed in, "it's the wax paper that slice came on!" And we all breathed a sigh of relief.
But Caroline was skeptical. "I don't know, I've had a lot of pizza on wax paper before and I've never seen anything like this in my life."
I noticed a small grease bit on my paper plate and trepidatiously reached my hand forward to touch it, hoping it was regular liquid grease. But sure enough, I mushed my finger into it and came away with a dry finger, and a dented pile on my plate. "It's not the wax paper," I reported.
I was starting to feel like I was in that movie The Stuff.
Phoebe was unsatisfied with our guessing game and decided to go get some answers. She strode confidently over to the counter while Greta and Caroline and I discussed what she could possibly be doing. She came back a few minutes later smirking to herself. "I went over to the counter and I said to the guy, 'I just really liked the slice here, do you think I could take a look at where you guys make it?' And he took me back behind the counter and there were just tubs and tubs of lard. I bet that's what it is, lard." We were all relieved we hadn't ingested a brain-eating, alien food substance, but we still weren't happy with our experience. Upon leaving Greta pointed out this sign that was an unintentional warning:
Look at the texture of the cheese on that clip art pizza, it's so foreboding, like it's trying to warn us about the horrors that await within Fat Sal's.
Fat Sal's Pizza - $2.50
1603 2nd Ave
New York, NY 10028